Stir Them Up
by Tera Hunter
Summary: When a young mutant confesses his dreams to Brother Peirson, the priest agrees to help him in spite of his dark secret. Trials, time, and hard work will scar the boy forever, but Kurt Wagner refuses to give up. Better summary than last time, right? R/R!
1. Assistance

**A/N: Yeah, this is an X-Men Evolution FF. I had to do it. Seriously, plot bunnies are evil and they are eating my homework. Please enjoy and critique (nicely).**

Assistance: Chapter One?

Germany. It was such a beautiful place. Especially this little corner of it, paradise. Lord Eric's miniature country was a rare sight, still preserved in a state of medieval benevolence. Sometimes, he missed New York. He just didn't like having to ride a horse everywhere. Monk garments were not designed to be hidden on a horse. At least it was better than walking.

Besides, Lord Eric took good care of his people. They were free to do whatever they wished under his rules, and he prevented every outside influence that he felt was unnecessary for their welfare. Medicine was allowed, of course; Cars and weapons, absolutely forbidden.

He smiled and leaned back in his chair next to the fire. His new study was his favorite place of all. A cozy room with thick, cream colored carpeting, wood panels on every wall, pictures of Christ on the mantle and the Pope on the back of the door. A huge fireplace to keep everyone warm while they sat around his gargantuan desk flickered with a constant blaze, adding a soft glow to the mahogany in the wood. A large couch and two "LazyBoy" chairs completed the scene. He sunk deeper into his own chair, a content grin growing on his face. It was all a tad extravagant, but Lord Eric had insisted that any who came to teach religion would be well taken care of and respected by the townsfolk.

And he had been taken care of. The first day he arrived he'd been swarmed with welcome gifts and celebration parties and barricaded with questions of every kind. It was a little overwhelming, at first, but he had adjusted quickly and learned to talk fast and simply. His predecessor had given them plenty to think about, apparently. He was always being asked about one thing or another, even six months into the job.

If he hadn't known better, he'd almost think they were his own faith. They were an active people, hard laborers all week and earnest studiers on the Sabbath. They would listen to anything they were told, and they would dissect it, reference it to the bible, and decide for themselves if it applied to the God they believed in. As a result, they had a very basic structure to their church, flexible and powerful testimonies, and a steadfast insistence that they always follow Christ. Sometimes that meant that they would disagree with him, but after a while both sides learned to simply discuss why and then move on. They didn't argue over it. Christ hadn't _forced_ his religion on others.

And, OH! The monastery…Lord Eric had built it himself, though how was anyones' guess. The people wouldn't tell. The entire structure was metal, with sheets of it stretched just thin enough around it that it was almost transparent. Elaborate openings on the sides and ceiling let cool air seep into the rooms, and a great glass window, the likes of which he had never imagined, dominated the wall behind the pulpit.

The top of the window was covered in what appeared to be life-sized angels, wielding powers the likes of which he'd never seen. Each of then had a distinct shape, sometimes even strange colors or markings, and at their head was an angel in a red robe wearing a helmet of the same color. The angel of death, he'd been informed in hushed whispers. He was leading the charge against a host of human soldiers and civilians at the bottom, illustrated in honey and root beer colored glass, where garishly colored angels wearing shackles that bound them to the other humans around them were trying to keep the angels at bay. "The fallen ones are trying to protect the sinners, even though they are destined to be destroyed" he'd heard from a small child.

He frowned. Sometimes that window bothered him. He wasn't sure why. Lord Eric had told him that the window was a picture from another age…an age that hadn't come yet. He'd refused to speak any more about it, and he'd reluctantly let it drop.

Still. The picture seemed to haunt him, even when he had his back to it. It felt like the shadowed eyes of the Angel of Death were boring into the back of his mind…

He started. He must have dozed off. The fire did that sometimes. The sound that woke him came again. He hurriedly got to his feet, wrapping his habit around his nightclothes, and hobbled sleepily to the door.

"Hello?" He called, wearily. Another knock was his answer. The others were asleep, so he would have to open the heavy door alone.

With a sigh he flipped the catch on the door and pulled it open. After a moment of catching his breath he stepped around it to face his guest.

A small boy, probably no older than ten, surely, was shivering on the doorstep, swathed in so many shaggy layers of cloth that his features were undistinguishable. With a small sob that wracked his body, obviously small even under all the wrappings, he took a step forward. "Pleaz…Fatha..jou aff to alp me…"

Surprised, the priest stepped aside. "Of course, child! Come in, get out of the cold!" He ushered the boy in, frantically searching the darkness for a sign of any sort of parental figure. "Are you lost? Good grief boy, you're freezing! Take off that coat and I'll have Maria fetch us some food."

The boy wrapped his arms around himself, his quiet voice heavy with accent, as though he rarely spoke English but knew it well and so chose his words with care. (This in itself was odd, seeing as Lord Eric insisted that his people learn many languages so that they would be able to study in every form.) He didn't take off his coat. "Nein…zank jou Fazah…" He coughed. "I must speak vit jou…ahlone…"

Brother Pierson blinked in surprise as he finally managed to reset the door and lock it. The tiny stature was set firmly, as though he was a tad scared of coming here but was as determined as a martyr to see it through. "Very well…" Pierson said slowly. "Please, my office is down the hall on the left. Get comfortable. I'll be there in a moment."

The boy hobbled off. Soemthing about the way his legs moved under the cloak disturbed him, but he shook it off. The poor boy was probably just freezing.

Curiosity boiled in him. What could be so important that this boy would leave home without a guardian and visit the local priest in the dead of night? _I wonder which family he's from. I've never heard his voice before…I'm sure I'd recognize him at church…_

When he entered the study and locked it, to preserve the privacy according to his vows, the small boy was standing uncertainly in the middle of the room, as if he couldn't remember how to sit down.

"So." Pierson cleared his throat. The boy jumped a good two feet in the air. Pierson blinked. "I…I don't remember seeing you at church…"

"I kannot goh." The boy said unhappily, his shoulders drooping.

This threw Pierson off. He'd been told that everyone in the village came to the meetings. "Nonsense. You are free to come."

The boy shook his head solemnly. "No. I am not. Not yet."

Pierson blinked again and sat down in one of the chairs, choosing to avoid the large desk to avoid intimidating his small visitor. "What do you mean?"

The boy shifted, looking down at his hands. Pierson glanced at them, too, and was struck suddenly by how delicate they appeared beneath the traditional swathes of cloth wrapped around them, completely hiding his long fingers, and making his slightly large thumb stand out. After a moment, the boy slipped his hands back around his arms and looked at the floor. After a moment, he spoke.

Pierson blinked, sure he'd misheard.

"What?"

The boy clutched himself tighter. "I sayt…vhat do jou know abowt de…demonz?"

"Demons…" The priest repeated, startled.

The boy seemed to fold in on himself further, struggling to speak as clearly as he could. "Je…Yes. I…I ahm 'aving trahbles…vitz a demon."

If Pierson wasn't already sitting, he'd have sat down in shock. Relief seemed to flood him briefly, stifled only by the seriousness with which the boy spoke. How serious could he be? He'd seen very little superstition among these people, but the boy was young. "Really?"

"Yes, sir." The boy said calmly, straightening a little. Perhaps now that he'd said it he felt calmer. His English was improving already. "I 'ave the scarz to prove et."

An uncomfortable silence passed. Then Pierson asked before he could stop himself. "May I see them?"

The boy stiffened, hugging himself so tightly that he could almost hear something crack. His head almost jerked up to stare at the priest, but the boy managed to remain looking down.

Pierson put on his best comforting smile. "No need to be frightened, my boy." He said. "There is no sin against resisting a…demon."

The boy said nothing, digesting what the man had said. He turned towards the fire, his back to the priest for a moment. Pierson found himself studying the figure before him. Now that he was paying attention he realized that not even a centimeter of skin was showing, even his legs were heavily wrapped in the cloth, though only flashes of them could be seen beneath the hem. His back was arched forwards so far he suddenly wondered why he hadn't overbalanced. The back of the cloak flicked slightly in a nonexistent breeze, as if something underneath had moved it…

Before he could study that closer, or even begin to formulate some kind of reaction, the small boy turned back around. His hooded eyes glittered with a strange mix of resignation and fear. "Very vell…But I 'ave to show jou somezing else firzt…and you 'ave to promise me." He slowly let go of himself, placing his hands over each other instead.

"…Promise you what?" Why was he scared all of a sudden? It was just a boy. A boy with a big imagination. Nothing more.

With all the seriousness of a judge passing his own death senctence that boy spoke. "Jou must promise, in ze name ov Gott, that ju vill not run."

"Wh…" Pierson licked his lips, surprised by their sudden dryness. "Why would I run from you?"

"Promise." The boy repeated, his eyes glowing with that strange fear again. "Promise!" He said again, when Pierson was too startled to respond immediately. Every muscle in the boy's body was tensed and quivering, making the rags around him shiver loosely.

Pierson raised his hands in surprise. "All right, all right! Calm down, son!" Pierson fidgeted in his seat, rose, and walked to the desk, settling behind it and steepling his fingers, hoping that he appeared serious enough that the boy would believe his sincerity. "I swear that I will not run."

"By Gott." The boy added immediately, still stiff.

Good grief, what had made this boy so edgy? Pierson stared at him, his curiosity suddenly a need to see what was hidden under those too loose rags. "Very well, then." He stood. "I promise…I swear, in the name of God, our Father and our friend and mentor, that I will not run." He sat back down and waited for the reaction.

The boy didn't move for a moment. Then he seemed to relax. A heavy, almost broken sigh left his lips and he seemed to remember something that pained him greatly. "Father…_our_ Father…" He sniffed once. Then he sat down on the floor, drew a knee up to his chin and buried his face in it. Pierson stared at him in shock. The respect in the little boy's voice, his obvious love for God, was so touching he almost looked away and didn't hear the boy mumbling. It was something German…Pierson blinked in surprise when he realized the boy was praying…the words were stunningly similar to the last rites! Before he could react, again, the boy suddenly straightened and slid to his feet, much calmer than before. "Here ve go, zen, Father." The boy said quietly. He spread his feet, spread his arms wide in supplication, and began his vow. The words were clear, and the boy clearly placed great effort into saying them as properly as he could. "_I promise_, in thee name of Gott, _our_ Father…our closest friend…" He almost broke then, tiny body trembling and head bowed briefly. "Our protector in time of great need…zat I vill not harm you."

That…was not what Pierson expected to hear. The small boy slowly lowered his arms. One hand drifted over to his left and hovered above it, as though unsure how to proceed. A moment later his fingers found the knot holding it stiff on his hand, and he pulled. A layer of bandages fell away.

Blue fur the color of midnight glowed in the light of the fireplace like stars.

The boy's head jerked towards him, still holding the strip's end in his hand, ready to wrap it back up as quickly as he'd unveiled it. Pierson was too scared to move. Shock literally held him fast in his seat.

After a moment, the boy must have convinced himself that Pierson was waiting for him to continue. Shaking, he pushed up the sleeve of his coat, revealing more bandages, which covered more fur that glowed when it was unwrapped.

Silence so thick it literally pressed around them settled in the room. At long last, the boy reached towards the opening of his coat. One button slides from its place. The boy has it halfway open when Pierson suddenly bolts.

He ran so fast he didn't even remember leaving his chair. He stumbles, but his momentum carries him to the door and he scrabbles at the keys on his belt…they aren't there. He wheels, frantically. His peripheral vision spots the keys on the desk, where he placed them at the beginning of the interview. His full sight falls on the boy suddenly before him. He wished he hadn't looked. The boy's hood fell off as he rushed forward. He is kneeling before him, desperate golden eyes framed with short blue fur on a face so terribly beautiful and anguished Pierson freezes in place.

"NO FATHER!" The boy is babbling through his tears, his German accent and his own fear making his words blur themselves almost beyond recognition. "JOU PROMISED! Jou promised! Jou…you…" He gives up, his head falling forward onto the man's knees as his entire body begins to shake with sobs. "Please…don't tell them I am a demon…I don't vant to be a demon again…I am so scared…"

Pierson felt the carpet give way beneath his feet and he slid down the door until he was sitting on the floor. The boy wrapped his arms around himself and fell forward into Pierson's chest, still sobbing. Pierson, on instinct, placed his arms around the boy's shoulders. A prayer began to fall from his lips, he himself had no idea what he was saying, but the boy stopped trembling. He sat up, pulling away just far enough to sit up on his toes…on his toes… His hands raised to his coat again and he pulled rapidly, the coat began to slide from his shoulders. Pierson's eyes snapped shut on their own, the prayer became louder.

After a moment, he felt the coat settle to the ground between his legs.

A small, quivering voice…a child's, no older than ten, surely, spoke to him.

"Please…Father…look at me."

Pierson felt his eyes opening, as if magic or God himself were pulling them open against his will.

The boy is standing above him now, far enough back that the fire outlined his form. The last of the bandages wrapped around his chest fall to the floor and he opened his arms, letting him take it all in at once. The shadows couldn't hide the long, vicious scars tracing the tiny body, the fawn-shaped legs, or the three fingered hands. Nor did the shadows reassure him as the last of the prayer slid from his lips.

"…so help me God…"

And then he fainted.

When Pierson woke up, he was on the couch. One of the cushions was under his head and a blanket tucked carefully around him. He blinked, several times, before slowly sitting up and turning to look around the room.

There he was. The small boy…whatever he was, was by the fire warming himself. He was wearing a small, ragged shirt now. He'd probably brought it in the pocket of his coat. The coat itself rested in the chair across from him, folded neatly with the bandaged rolled and stacked on top. _He definitely takes good care of what little he has._ Pierson thought automatically.

Pierson's eyes turned back towards the figure by the flames. It looked like he was crying. His head tucked against his knees as he rocked on the toes of his oddle shaped legs, his black-blue hair spread across his shoulders. Something about the sight snapped inside Pierson. Instead of a tiny demon, all he saw was a small boy, terrified and lost and alone. _I wonder how many times he tried to show people…how many times they ran, like I did…how many times they added to the collection of scars on his arms…_ Determined, he sat up, and turned to slide his legs over the side of his makeshift bed.

"Good…good morning." He finally managed, and waited.

The boy stiffened for a moment. Then a rapid hand rushed across his face and he turned to face him, tears still keeping the fur slick across his cheeks. "I…it's Kurt." He looked down for a moment, his voice cracking. "I…I vas so afraid you had been badly hurt…I'm glad you are not…If I 'ad tried to get help…" He trailed off for a moment. Then his face hardened into a wistful sarcastic grimace. "It vould not 'ave gone vell."

Pierson felt his face soften. _Such and adult expression for such a small boy. He must have been terrified._ "Thank goodness, then. I wouldn't want you to get hurt."

The boy's, _Kurt_'s, eyes came up. Their golden eyes flickering with automatically with suspicion. Then they softened with surprise and his lips quivered. "Th…thank jou." He managed at last. Tears began to well and he bowed his head again. "I…I am so sorry, Brother…mine eyes…"

Pierson realized that he'd been staring at them. Kurt thought he was still scared? Pierson's mind was made up. He needed to change that.

He walked over to the boy and scooped him into his arms. Kurt stiffened in surprise as the priest held him close and whispered into his pointed ears. "They are eyes that God gave you. Do not be ashamed of being beautiful."

Kurt shivered. It was possible he had never been held this way before in his life. Then he gave in and the terror left him in a rush, relief flooding him instead as he broke, turning into the embrace and sobbing into the man's habit. Pierson rubbed his back, sitting on the couch and whispering to him in the way he had whispered to so many children. "Hush now, Kurt. No one here will hurt you, I promise. You are in the Lord's House, remember? He protects _all_ his children, even the unique ones."

Kurt just cried even harder at the words, years of rejection and terror draining from a body so used to tension that it felt like wires. When Pierson looked closer, however, he saw a smile work its way across the fine featured face, the fur deepening the creases and making the smile a wonderful sight to behold. The pointed canines didn't even stir the priest. "You should smile more often." He said. Kurt turned his face towards him, tears slowing in surprise as the grin remained on his face. It was so wide now that it seemed like it would never leave.

Even after he calmed down and all the tears had purged his unhappiness, the smile still lingered on his solemn expression, as though all it would take was a word and it would leap back into view, as brilliant as before. Pierson had asked for food to be brought to the door and they now sat eating in the reclusive firelight of his office. Kurt sat cross-legged on the floor, admitting that chairs made him uncomfortable, and Pierson had decided to join him. The carpet was thick enough.

Kurt was open now. Stumbling along in almost fluent English that surprised Pierson the boy responded openly to the priest's questions. They talked for hours about his family, the Wagners, and his little sister Emily, who was often sick, and their little farm outside of town, and the gypsies that often came to visit his parents, usually to offer Kurt a place in their circus, and to visit his mother, once their best tightrope walker. He was thinking about going with them when he was a little older…but there was something he had wanted to do first. The reason he had come to see Brother Pierson.

"And?" Pierson asked when they reached that point. "Why_ did_ you come?"

Kurt didn't answer for a moment, using his tail to move his now empty plate to the side as he thought. "My muzza…my mother…says that curses are meant to stir za people up in remembrance of God." He looked at his hands, raising them so Pierson could see them clearly, and trace the faint scars under the fur in his mind. "If I am a curse, as I am often told zat I am…" He smiled at Pierson, as though thankful that for the first time he had been told otherwise by someone besides himself. "I thought hard about zis." He stood. "If I am a curse…zen it is my duty and my purpose to teach the people about God."

Pierson set the plate down in his lap. His eyes widened with surprise. "Kurt…are you saying…"

Kurt nodded firmly. "Vhen I come back, after I have enough money for my family to be taken care of, I vhant you to teach me." He knelt back down in front of Brother Pierson, eyes fixed on his. "I vant to be a priest."

-End Scene-

A/N: I think I should make this clear really fast, Brother Pierson isn't in love with Nightcrawler. He loves him like a son, yes. Nightcrawler is _**too freaking young**_ for a love life and Brother Pierson _**isn't homosexual**_ (sorry, some people just aren't). If you don't like it, to coin a phrase, don't read it.

And…that's it right now. If anyone has comments or just really liked the story, let me know. If you have ideas about what should happen next, then if you DON'T tell me, then I won't be able to continue the story! Bwahaha.

Seriously, though, I need incentive to continue. I have the perfect excuse for Kurt getting accepted into the church but I need more stuff to play with! Give me plot facts, give me rumors, send me some fun ideas or just flat out stupid notions that could make things interesting!

Yes, I am going to mix storylines here. In my version of this story, Mystique married the pompous (insert synonym for "jerk" here), may or may not have had a relationship with Azazelf [I might make that a different story], had Kurt, ran, was taken in by Magneto, ran from him, lost Kurt, and watched him drift down the stream through Magneto's realm (hey, it's gotta be _his_ land, why else would he have a CASTLE?), let the people take him in, and left never expecting to find him again.

Um…I may need to make that a different chapter. There are a few things left out, just in case. :D

Also, for those of you waiting on my bionicle stories, they are almost finished. I moved, so I had trouble updating them. Right now, the files are in another state, but I'll have them soon and then I'll be able to finish. I AM SO SORRY I couldn't tell you earlier. Lots of Love! –Tera Hunter


	2. Again, Again, and Again

**A/N Okay, I'm skipping ahead to the circus. I won't spend much time there (sorry, but I have no ideas) so if you want more about his time there you'll need to review. Mwahaha…**

**So, please read. And since I forgot last chapter: I don't own anything you recognize as canon. I own Coldrim and Mr. Frezzick (sadly). That's it. I own no blue, fuzzy elves or demons. Yeah…I won't be saying that again either [unless that miraculously changes]. It hurts too much.**

**I just realized that this is a really short chapter. (It's because I split it to make more. I figured that was easier than just updating...a lot of pages. This way I can edit the other 30 with your critique!!! *hint*hint*)**

Kurt found the circus without trouble. Master Coldrim had made sure the directions were clearly written and described for his visitors and he'd even added notes personally to Kurt's map. He was hired before he even opened his mouth.

Within a few days he was one of their best performers. His natural agility surprised everyone, including himself, and he discovered a satisfaction that came from watching someone's face shift to an expression of dumbfounded surprise. He enjoyed travelling Germany, having never left his small town before. He loved to entertain people, people that saw his appearance as a gift or a costume, whichever. Kurt juggled, danced, and performed every night, practicing even in his sleep. Coldrim loved him, too, always flaunting him for the customers, directing their attention to his flawless skills and hard work. The Incredible Nightcrawler…It was a dream come true.

Coldrim was a very strict man, but he had a twinkle in his right eye, behind his monocle, that seemed to make that all right. At first, he'd scared Kurt for reasons he couldn't explain…maybe it was the way he hovered near him, much closer and longer than any other human. The unexpected acceptance of his appearance pleased him, but it also made him uneasy. He managed to bury that feeling, focusing instead on the work he had to do. Ringmaster Coldrim always made sure Kurt trained to the very best of his ability and he always rewarded him for his hard work. It was more than anyone had done for him, though his parents had tried for years. He owed Coldrim everything, his fame, his health, and most of all his newfound confidence.

That's why Kurt was sad when he had to leave.

"Thank you for all ov your halp, Master Coldrim." Kurt said with a faint smile on his face as he placed the last scrap of clothes into his small satchel. He was a little taller now, lean and bluer than ever. His hair had grown out a bit, and he kept it in a squire's ponytail when he wasn't performing. His muscles rippled slightly, his body loose with energy that he'd been developing for the past twelve months.

"It is no trouble, young friend." Coldrim replied, his customary twinkle dancing in his right eye. "You have been a wonderful addition to our show." He paused, handing Kurt his small pouch of earnings. "Are you sure I can't convince you to stay?"

Kurt hesitated. It would be so easy to just stay. He could earn even more money if he came with Coldrim to England. But Emily would miss him…and there was no guarantee he'd ever find his way back. "I am sure. I need to visit my family, they vill be very vorried about me." Kurt smiled apologetically as he stepped through the curtain. "Besides, I promised I vould come back."

"Of course. Another time, then Kurt. Remember," he paused, the monocle on his right eye flashing. "…you're safe here."

Kurt paused, but Coldrim was already back inside.

The trip to town was made without incident, Kurt whistled to himself as he walked, admiring his uniform in shop windows as he walked. _I need to cut mein hair…_ He thought to himself, running a hand through it. _Mother does not like it very long._ He grinned and felt the pouch in his pockets. There was plenty there, surely enough to help pay for Emily's treatment.

Emily. Kurt's heart ached at the thought of her. His little foster sister had been his very best friend for as long as he could remember. She loved to play with him, whenever and however she could, but her fragile health made such things…difficult. He stopped when a glimmer caught his eye. He leaned closer, pressing a three-fingered hand to the glass as he peered into the store. A tiny golden locket rested on a pillow inside the store. His golden eyes softened as he looked at it, tracing the rose etched into its surface, remembering Emily. He made his decision. Squaring his shoulders and adjusting his costume he marched into the store, coins bouncing in his pocket.

"I want him back." Coldrim snapped. His monocle flashed angrily in the firelight. "He's the best thing that's happened to this circus since we lost our last freak."

The sallow man behind the ringmaster spat on the ground nonchalantly. "Whatev', sah. We'll git yer blue fuzzer back hea as quick as a fallin coin…catch mah drift, sah?"

Coldrim turned to glower at him. "Your pay is in the case. Get me the demon and I'll triple it. And Mr. Frezzick…!" Frezzick paused, almost out the door. "Remember, if the police get involved or anything…extravagant occurs…I will have to report you."

"Unnerstood, sir." Frezzick ran. After a few minutes, he spat on the ground. "Ah hate him." He muttered before turning his attention to the case. A grin wormed across his greasy face. "Okay, boys!" He called into the forest. "We gotta job tah do!"

Coldrim leaned on the desk, one hand lifting to delicately brush against his monocle. His low, dangerous voice rang with quiet, maddened laughter. "Five more minutes with him…five minutes alone…and he won't ever leave. Never again will he walk from here under his own power."

Kurt stepped out feeling light as a feather. The clerk had been a regular circus goer, and The Nightcrawler Act was his favorite. He'd even discounted Kurt's special purchase. Kurt grinned, patting his purse with a distant glow in his eyes as he turned to walk down the street again.

A large hand landed on his shoulder.

"Hey. Are you the Incredible Nightcrawler?"

Kurt turned. A very large man stood behind him, his eyes hidden beneath huge brows and a shaggy beard. Kurt let a smile onto his face, although his stomach had done a backflip in surprise. "Ah…yes? Yes, I am." He bowed. "Nightcrawler at jour service."

"Can you come with me? I want some friends to meet you."

Nightcrawler frowned. "Vell…" Uneasiness slipped into him automatically. Something didn't feel right. Then pride swept in as he recalled the clerk. This man was probably the same. _Ah, vhy not? I can be vamous for von more day, right? _"Of course I vill come. As long as I am not late for ze boat."

The big man nodded, his expression still frozen in a frown.

_Maybe it is stuck zat vay?_ He chuckled to himself as he followed the man around the corner.

Since he was behind the man, he didn't notice for a moment that they had turned too soon to be on the next street. A quick glance around revealed the common filth of an alley. The uncertainty returned full force. The big man turned around and Kurt stopped. "Um…vhere are jour friends?" He asked. The man pointed over Kurt's head. Two more men appeared at the end of the alley. Kurt twitched. "Oh."

"Far as you go, freak." One of the men growled.

"Excuse me?" Kurt managed, backing up a little and bumping into the first man.

"We don't like your kind. Get out of here. _Demon_."

Kurt froze. That word. A million memories. _Demon_.

"I am not a demon." Kurt whispered, his voice catching halfway through.

The ground slammed into his face…or was it the other way around? He rolled onto his back, shocked yellow orbs staring up at the men. He'd been…_hit_. The men cracked their knuckles. His startled mind transformed them into other figures, other times, other places. He scrambled back, but there was nowhere to go.

He made it to the street, the sleeves of his fine costume slipping down to his elbows. A dark blue bruise formed on his face, framed by his hair. The ponytail had fallen out long ago. Something warm dripped down his arm. One of the men had had a … a what? A knife? His shoulder was bleeding. He didn't even remember getting away. One second they were all over him, the next he was stumbling form the alley. Had he blacked out? Had they let him go? Something was burning…He glanced behind himself, then backpedaled rapidly into the street as the men came charging towards him.

Kurt's gaze flitted around in search of somewhere, _anywhere_ he could hide. The sight that met his eyes made his blood run cold. There were more people out here…surging towards him. The smell of smoke burned his nose as they lit torches, yelling so loudly that his pointed ears twitched. A terrible certainty bled into his arms as he realized they were coming for _him_. A sallow old man led the charge, yelling something about a demon. The people flooded behind him. Kurt's heart stopped.

A mob. Out for blood. His blood.

_Not again. NOT AGAIN._

He backed up again, back towards the alley, and collided with the men.

Their hands latched onto his, crushing the air from his body. He screamed, writhing in their grip as the sallow man reached him first, waving a torch in his face. "DEMON! BEGONE!"

"I am not a demon!: Kurt begged, still struggling. The words tasted bland in his mouth, as though he'd said them too many times. "I AM NOT A DEMON!"

They ignored him as they pressed closer. They always did. He closed his eyes and tensed every muscle in his body. He'd done this scene so many times he didn't want to watch anymore.

Coldrim glanced up in surprise as a tattered sobbing figure stumbled into his tent. He jumped to his feet, the monocle flashing with concern. "Kurt? Is that you?"

"Halp me…not a demon…not…" He collapsed as Coldrim knelt beside him, still sobbing. "Don't hurt her…not a demon…not…no…"

"Kurt, what are you talking about? What happened?"

Kurt shook, curled up into himself. "I…I _am_ a demon…I _am _a m-monster…" His voice caught. "C-coldr…Master…I can't go home. I can't let them…let them…hurt her…They can't hurt her!" Kurt's eyes were wide and unfocused, as if he were seeing ghosts.

"Hush, now, Kurt." Coldrim murmured, running a hand lightly down the boy's bruised side, then coming back up to hover above his bleeding shoulder. A muffled curse hissed from his lips. Kurt was too distant to notice. "I'll take care of you. We'll talk more when you feel better." With that, he scooped the small package into his arms and strode from the tent as though he'd just won the lottery.

Kurt barely felt the rough black fabric rub against his bruises. All his will was focused on the tiny golden locket dangling limply from his hand.

**A/N: Okay, chapter two. I'm not very happy with how I wrote this chapter. It went a little fast, but it IS essential for later on.**

**By the way, Kurt will be facing a lot of trouble in the next few chapters, but I promise he'll get back to Pierson and his family soon. I just need to get these next few plot points in here.**

**Anyways, any ideas for the next few chapters? **

**I need help for when Kurt starts training as a priest, I don't know ****_anything_**** about the rituals. **

**Also, if someone knows German, I need help with Kurt's vocabulary, especially when his family gets involved.**

**Anything else…? Oh, yeah. Please READ and REVIEW. (Especially review. I need critique, advice, and major ideas. I'm suffering over here!!!**


	3. A New Life

**THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH!**

**Your reviews really help me out. I'm now looking through my chapters (I have about seven in reserve right now) to see if I can tweak them with your ideas. **

**Also, as soon as fanfiction stops freaking out on me I'm going to add a poll specifically for the readers of this story based on Kurt's accent. Read "BamfIsAwesome"'s review if you need to know why. (I use Kurt's accent to differentiate between characters, but I don't mind working it out if that will help my readers.) This chapter will be written as normal, so I hope you don't mind. The next few will depend on the poll results in the next few days. PLEASE do the poll if you have time!**

**Anyways, please enjoy and review. (If you hate it, please tell me why as politely as possible.)**

Nightcrawler sat quietly with his knees up against his chest, watching with little interest as Master Coldrim opened the doors of his Madman's Emporium for the morning crowd. _Good for him._ Nightcrawler thought, the voice in his head hard and uncaring.

Two years. It had been only two years since Coldrim moved his "star attraction" to the freak show section. Three months since Coldrim sold the circus and moved into the show house at the edge of London. Two years of "The Midnight Visitor", terror of children and women alike.

He had played his part well and Coldrim had rewarded him handsomely with both a cage of his own and enough gold to buy a small castle, assuming he ever got the chance to use it. A well of frustration boiled deep inside him as he watched Coldrim flit from one side of the store to another, bragging his top hat off about this and that monster. Half of the stories were fake, of course. The rest were spiced up or outright lies. The man knew how to tell a tall tale; that was for sure.

Kurt leaned back, letting the cold, uneven bars of his cell rub against the back of his tattered vest. His eyes narrowed as he examined the cold, gray interior of Coldrim's new residence. Stone on stone on flawless stone covered every wall. Every stone was the same hard, gray, uncaring shade. He was grateful for the brightly colored cages hanging from the ceiling beside him….just because they helped alleviate the monotone of their surroundings. He growled deep in his throat. The inhabitants were another matter. He'd discovered quickly that the majority of Coldrim's collection consisted of dumb beasts and magic tricks. As far as he could tell, only himself and one other could speak at all. Her name was Marinas, Captive Merfolk Princess. Coldrim bought her from a sushi market when they caught her in their nets. They used to talk when they could, simply for the pleasure of company, even though they wouldn't get along under normal circumstances. She was a bit _too_ hard. She had refused to tell him why, but he assumed it had to do with the wooden bead bracelet around her tail. She bit Coldrim when he tried to take it.

Coldrim sold her to a visiting prince last week. She was now living in a private pool deep inside his castle somewhere near Africa. Nightcrawler hoped the Prince was as polite as he pretended to be. Marinas had suffered enough. He didn't pray, though. He didn't feel like it…demons have no right to God's blessings. That was the one thing he and the rest of the world seemed to agree on.

_Ich bin nicht ein Dämon!_ Part of his mind snapped at him automatically, before falling back asleep. He smiled to himself. _As long as I remember zat, I don't 'ave a problem._

The dark rumble in his throat died away. To think he had trusted Coldrim… _Master_ Coldrim. He chuckled, raising his arms in a weak imitation of praise. "All hail Lord Coldrim, conqueror ov horror stories and master ov parlor tricks. Come ye, good people. Gaze upon his awvul creations and his masterpiece…ze Incredible Nightcrawler…Demon ov ze night and ze most cruelly deformed thirteen-year old in ze vorld!"

Thirteen. Was he really only thirteen? He felt much older than that.

He turned his head to look at Coldrim's calendar on the wall near the floor. He was used to reading from this angle, but the faded colors of the calendar still took him a moment to decipher. June 26th. His birthday was the 29th. So he'd be fourteen soon.

He grunted, satisfied, and leaned his head back against the wall.

The cage jerked, dropping half an inch. Kurt's eyes snapped open in surprise before narrowing in anger and shame. He got to his feet as the cage began to lower again, more gently this time. Coldrim watched in satisfaction, his monocle flashing as Nightcrawler got closer and closer. Nightcrawler nodded sharply towards him and stepped back into the shadows of his cage. Coldrim grinned and began his speech. "Here is my greatest find: The dark monster of your nightmares, the former Incredible Nightcrawler…The Midnight Visitor!"

He released the catch on the wall that controlled the chains lowering the cage. Coldrim timed the landing just right and Nightcrawler stepped forward into the light as though summoned from the depths. He positioned himself so that enough shadow fell across his face to make his eyes glow bright and angry. Several women fell to the back of the crowd in fear, dragging their small children with them.

"What _is_ that thing?" One of them gasped in horror. Nightcrawler remained tense and hard. His heart was beating like a drum.

Coldrim grinned, flourishing his cloak. "This, my good lady, is a demon."

_I vill not flinch_. Nightcrawler straightened so fast half the crowd jumped. He forced a smirk onto his face, baring his fangs at the teenage boys that had remained close.

Coldrim ignored their reactions. He knew that the more frightening Nightcrawler appeared, the more powerful his next "trick" would be. One man, near the back, raised his hand.

"How do you keep him locked up? I thought demons couldn't be caught."

Coldrim's eyeglass twinkled as a conspiring grin appeared on his face. Nightcrawler tried not to roll his eyes. The man had been hired earlier that day, like many others before him. You'd think that after a week or two Coldrim would come up with a more interesting response, but no. He still used the same lines. Kurt could have said them with him, if the bad taste would leave his mouth.

"I will tell you a secret, my good man." Coldrim announced as he beckoned for the crowd to lean forward. "I have _tamed_ this demon."

The crowd reeled back in shock.

"Impossible!" One cried.

"It cannot be done!" Another snapped.

Coldrim laughed. "It will be a pleasure to prove you wrong."

He turned towards the cage, a key appearing in his hand. The crowd scrambled backwards. Coldrim smiled without turning his head to see. "I will ask that you do not open the front door. I do not want my little pet to escape."

The crowd froze in place as he slid the key into the lock. Nightcrawler watched blandly as their faces twisted into terror. Sarcasm dripping from the voice in his head.

_Ja, Coldrim _ist_ going to open ze door. He's done it every Saturday for three months now…not zat you vould know zat…_

The door swung open.

Nightcrawler took exactly one step forward, slowly, letting his natural grace add a deadly edge to his move. He'd done this so often, his hesitation was perfectly rehearsed as he swung his head to his master. Coldrim waited exactly three seconds before he nodded dramatically. Nightcrawler took another three strides forward. The crowd had frozen. Here it came. The big moment.

He stepped outside the cage.

His golden eyes drifted lazily across each face before resting on a young female.

He remained still as Coldrim raised his arms in triumph. "You see? He is perfectly tame!"

Nightcrawler lunged.

A panicked scream tore from the girl's throat as his hand lightly brushed her arm. With a wicked grin he spun away, sweeping a small child into his arms, eliciting another yelp before depositing it back on the ground on its mother's other side and dancing back to his place, dropping into an obedient crouch at Coldrim's left hand.

The crowd was pressed so tightly in on itself now that Nightcrawler was surprised they could breathe. Coldrim raised his arms again. "You see? He only does what I tell him to. He cannot harm anyone, nor can he indulge his selfish, demonic needs. He will do exactly as I say, when I say. Correct, Nightcrawler?" That last was directed at the creature next to him.

Nightcrawler felt a shiver run up his spine. Venom pooled in his throat as he spoke as politely as his fake hiss would allow. "Yess…Masster…I vill only serve jou."

Coldrim nodded. "You are dismissed."

Nightcrawler remained prostrate for a moment longer. Then he slid smoothly back to his feet and stalked proudly, as proudly as a tamed demon could, back into his cage.

Nightcrawler was lying on his back in the middle of his "room", staring at the posters decorating the ceiling. His hand drifted to his collarbone for a moment. He sat up and moved to the corner of the cage, brushing his bed of straw to the side and picking up a small, glittering necklace in his three-fingered hand. He pressed it quickly to his lips and then to his heart before slipping it back under the hay.

_Soon, leibling schwester…_

Using his tail, he quickly gathered the rest of the straw that had been scattered by his pacing and laid down to take a brief nap before closing time.

Sunday. Nightcrawler spent the day on his knees, crying, trying so hard to pray. No words came. After a few hours he gave up and fell asleep.

**A/N: leibling schwester-little sister (right?)**

**Ich bin nicht ein Dämon!-I'm not a demon! (Right? Right?)**

**I'm not used to German. I speak Spanish, okay? Thanks for your help, by the way…I didn't want to use too much yet. ******

**Hehe...I love the act Kurt puts together for Coldrim. Sorry if anyone is confused by the sudden scene change. If you didn't get it in the story, Coldrim basically sold the circus after a year or two and moved to London to start a permanent freak show. Kurt is just a little more bitter than I'm used to writing, but don't worry! He's still ****_our_**** Kurt inside. The quicker you review the quicker you'll find out what happens!!!**

**Next Chapter: You've all seen Coldrim during the day. You've seen his arrogance and the way he loves to hear himself talk. The question is, what happens after the door shuts for the night?**


	4. Another Bad Day

**A/N Okay, here's a peek at Coldrim's ****_other_**** side. Tell me if you like it! (PS: the song is not mine. Disney owns everything good! *pout*)**

**Oh yeah…quick apology if you hate songfics. I was in a good mood and wrote this. ****_Italics_**** is normal singing, ****_(Italics)_**** is accompaniment.**

The cage jerked.

Nightcrawler tensed. His keen ears strained for noise. Darkness had fallen over the Emporium. The doors were shut again. His cage began to lower. He sat up, stretching, and then positioned himself against the back wall, eyes hooded.

Coldrim banged his fist against the door of the cage when it was low enough. "Hey! Wake up …" He faltered when he saw Nightcrawler wide awake. "Good. Yer up…" He hiccupped. Nightcrawler bit his lip gently. Coldrim had gotten drunk. That was not good. It looked worse than usual. "…Open the door…"Coldrim ordered, swaying slightly.

Nightcrawler forced himself to his feet and crossed to the door. Within moments he had removed the key from Coldrim's neck, unlocked the door, and returned the key to its place. He stepped back, silently opening the door and letting Coldrim in like a gracious host for a visiting prince. Coldrim stumbled through and Nightcrawler let the cage door shut behind him as he tried to return to his seat.

Coldrim grabbed Nightcrawler's shoulder and spun him around, forcing him to face him. "Yer nothin' but trouble today, aren't you…" He grumbled. Nightcrawler remained still. "Talk to me, d...da…ya dummy." He snarled, shaking him. "You ha-haven't talked to me in a year…"

"_He's perfectly tame!" Coldrim announced, a grin on his face. One of the girls in the group raised a hand._

"_Can I touch him?"_

_Coldrim blinked in surprise. Nightcrawler felt his heart stop. _Say nein. **_Please_** say nein._ Coldrim grinned._

"_Of course."_

_Hands…hands everywhere. They were touching him, rubbing his fur in very uncomfortable ways. He sought out Coldrim, begging silently for release. In response, his _loving_ Master slipped behind him and removed the vest from his shoulders, providing more room for the crowd._

Nightcrawler's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Coldrim caught the movement and his gaze suddenly hardened. He grabbed Nightcrawler's shoulder and forced him to the floor. His voice was a snarl. "Must we do this every night?"

He began to sing. His voice was strong and powerful, even when he was drunk. The words rang clear and loud. Nightcrawler turned away. Hot tears in his eyes. Ever since the Hunchback of Notre Dame had been preformed in London its songs had been added to Coldrim's nightly lectures…and Nightcrawler had learned his part quickly and perfectly.

_The world is cruel  
The world is wicked  
It's I alone whom you can trust in this whole city  
I am your only friend  
I who keep you, teach you, feed you, dress you  
I who look upon you without fear  
How can I protect you, boy, unless you  
Always stay in here  
Away in here_

Coldrim grinned. Nightcrawler bowed his head sullenly, his younger, stronger tenor voice softly blending with his Master's.

_  
Remember what I taught you, Quasimodo  
You are deformed_

(I am deformed)

And you are ugly

(And I am ugly)

And these are crimes  
For which the world  
Shows little pity  
You do not comprehend

(You are my one defender)

Nightcrawler let Coldrim's hand slide under his chin, forcing him to look into his eyes as they continued.

_  
Out there they'll revile you  
As a monster_

(I am a monster)

Nightcrawler crawled backwards, head down.

_  
Out there they will hate  
And scorn and jeer_

(Only a monster)

Nightcrawler's hand slid under his pillow, tightening on the small locket hidden there. Coldrim spun away without noticing, raising his arms to address an invisible audience.

_  
Why invite their calumny  
And consternation?_

He spun back around, striding towards his slave.

_  
Stay in here  
Be faithful to me_

(I'm faithful)

Kurt remained absolutely still as Coldrim knelt, far too close for comfort.

_  
Grateful to me_

(I'm grateful)

Coldrim's breath was hot as it washed across his face. Kurt bowed his head. Coldrim grinned.

_  
Do as I say_

Coldrim stood._  
_

_Obey_

Nightcrawler watched as his Master stumbled out of the cage and shut the door.

_  
And stay  
In here  
_

Kurt bowed his head again.

_  
(I'll stay)  
In here  
_

Coldrim nodded to himself in satisfaction. He turned to go, only just remembering to flip the catch on the lever that made the cage rise up again. He swayed out of the room, kicking a small cage on his way. Nightcrawler waited until he was gone before he finished the song, the part Coldrim never seemed to remember. He let his accent return, letting himself fall into the rhythm of the song he'd heard so many times.

_Safe behind zese vindows and zese parapets of stone  
Gazing at ze people down below me  
All my life I watch them as I hide up here alone  
Hungry for the histories zey show me  
All my life I memorize their faces  
Knowing them as zey vill never know me  
All my life I vonder how it feels to pass a day  
Not above zem  
But part of zem  
_

Nightcrawler crawled to the side. His hands wrapped around the bars, looking out onto the streets where people wandered by, doing last minute shopping. Normal people. Good people. Other people.

_  
And out zhere  
Living in the sun  
Give me one day out zhere_

He reached through the bars, just because he could, and stretched towards that so close and so distant street.

_  
All I ask is one  
To hold forever  
_

His hand closed into a fist. He pretended that he was holding the street in his hand…not air.

_  
Out zhere  
Vhere zey all live unaware  
What I'd give  
What I'd dare  
Just to live one day out zhere  
_

He remained still for the rest of the night and woke to the sight of a bustling crowd. With the marketplace just down the street Monday was one of the busiest days of the week. It was early. Coldrim was probably still asleep with a hangover due at noon. Nightcrawler slipped into the rest of the song automatically, greeting the morning.

_  
Out zhere among the millers and the weavers and zheir wives  
Zhrough the roofs and gables I can see zhem  
Ev'ry day zhey shout and scold and go about zeir lives  
Heedless of the gift it is to be zhem  
If I was in zheir skin  
I'd treasure ev'ry instant  
_

Nightcrawler rubbed at the fur on his arms in regret. Caught up in the vision the song always wove for him.

_  
Out zhere  
Strolling by the Seine  
Taste a morning out zhere  
Like ordinary men  
Who freely valk about there_

Kurt stood up. His fists straight at his sides and his eyes flashing. His tenor swelled loud and clear through the Emporium, making several small animals stir in their cages.

_  
Just one day and zhen  
I svear I'll be content  
Vith my share  
Von't resent  
Von't despair  
Old and bent  
I von't care  
I'll 'ave spent  
One day  
Out zhere…_

A boiling determination rose to the surface, and Kurt felt more alive than he had before. The tiny locket in his hand left an imprint in his palm as he raised it to his lips, then to his heart. "I vill be back."

He turned to go back to sleep…he stopped for a moment. Then he fell to his knees. "Just von day… and zen I svear I'll be content vith my share…Von't resent, von't despair…Old and bent, I von't care! I'll have spent one day out zere… Pleaze…Gott…Iv you really love me… just von day…let me see zem again."

**A/N: Yeah, I used Hunchback of Notre Dame. I thought it really fit, and having it as a play seemed to work well. (PS: If any of you happen to do youtube music videos, I think this song would be awesome!!!)**

**Oh yeah, and by the way Kurt is really claustrophobic around people (not like Storm). I figured that since almost everyone that touches him hurts him it would make sense for him to keep his distance and to tell Coldrim about it (back when he trusted the jerk). Does that make sense?**

**I think I'm moving too fast, how about you guys? Should I spend more time on Coldrim or just move on with the story? Let me know in your reviews.**


	5. Anger

Nightcrawler felt as though the entire world had turned upside down. He stared wide eyed at the man on the other side of the bars. It was a holiday of some sort, Kurt didn't know which one, so Coldrim let the cages hang low so the crowd could walk through. Still, people tended to keep their distance, usually.

"Vhat did jou say?" He managed to whisper.

"I can get you out of here." The man repeated calmly. He was only two or three feet away, so his voice carried clearly without letting everyone in on their conversation.

Nightcrawler did a double take. He remembered this man. He'd come regularly to the Emporium every Tuesday at three o' clock in the afternoon. He always wore the same black suit and the same spotless white shirt and gloves. The most disturbing part was that he spent his entire time watching the same cage. Nightcrawler had finally learned to ignore him. Until today, when he approached him at last and made his simple, powerful offer.

Nightcrawler felt his mouth dry. "How?"

The man grinned. "Let's say I have my ways. Are you interested?"

Nightcrawler blinked. Then his gaze went blank. "Vhat is ze catch?" He asked. "Don't tell me zhere isn't von. I got in here by forgetting to vind out."

The man smirked. "Good. You aren't as dumb as good Lord Coldrim pretends you are." He adjusted his gloves. "I am a scientist."

Nightcrawler recoiled instantly. The man just smiled, not even looking at him. "Medical science, Nightcrawler, strictly medical. If you come with me, all I want is three days to test my project. I am working on something that will help the world to accept us."

"_**Us**_?" Nightcrawler jumped in, his eyes tracking the man's, watching for any hint of a lie. The way the man said _test_ disturbed him.

The man paused again. A smile inched across his face. His teeth seemed to…taper slightly at the ends…as though all of the man's teeth were becoming fangs. Kurt shuddered. "Pardon me…an experiment that will help people to accept _mutants_. Is that better?"

_Mutants. Zat iz a new von._ Kurt digested that for a moment. "Vhat kind ov experiment?"

The man raised an eyebrow at him. "I am still working on that."

"…Vhy me?"

"Because you are special."

"Special." It took everything Nightcrawler had not to growl. Was the man blind? Did he not see what he looked like? Where he was? Nightcrawler sighed.

"You need time to think. I will give you an hour."

_Only an hour?_ Nightcrawler looked up, but the man had already moved away, studying the other cages for the first time since showing up four months ago. Nightcrawler retreated into his corner, thoughtful. His hand slipped beneath the pillow to the object beneath and he glanced upwards.

_Is zis really ze answer? It sounds so simple…_ He closed his eyes for a moment, thinking it over. For some reason, the thought wouldn't stay in his head. He couldn't imagine going with that man. An old scripture surfaced instead and he sighed. "A stupor of thought…" He murmured.

The man returned. "Well? Do you wish to leave this place?"

Nightcrawler had never fought back tears so hard in his life. "No." His hand tightened on the locket. "I..I need to…I vish to…No. No."

The man looked at him for a long time. "I won't come back."

Nightcrawler hardened his jaw. "I know."

They looked at each other for another full minute. Then the man spun on his heel and left without looking back. Nightcrawler watched him go. He chuckled without smiling. It would have been so ironic. Being freed on July 29th.

'_Appy birzday, Nightcrawler._ He sighed mentally.

Only after the man was gone did he allow a keening wail to escape his lips, terrifying everyone in the shop and making Coldrim spill coffee all over his new exhibit.

_Please, Gott…Please let zis be ze right decision._

It took four days for Kurt to snap. It was Friday night, almost closing time, and he still wasn't sure if his decision on Tuesday had been the right one. An agitation developed, so powerful and frustrating that he couldn't rest. He began to truly hate the Emporium. He grew tired and then outright sick at the looks girls gave him, scared, disgusted, or just bored, as though he weren't interesting at all. As if he was just another freak. As if he'd had a choice. Saturday morning came and the crowd entered, ready for the show.

The cage began to lower. Nightcrawler stood. Then he froze as something inside him broke.

"It's not vair." He whispered suddenly. Hot tears formed in his eyes. "It's not _vair_."

The crowd watched in surprise as the proud demon suddenly ducked his head and turned away, ashamed. Coldrim spun in surprise, and anger flashed through his monocle as the terrifying Midnight Visitor began to shake with quiet tears.

One man, obviously drunk, laughed and through an arm around a nearby lady (who was not pleased, by the way). "Look at'im! Knows that e's not fit fer good company! Bloody demon…"

Nightcrawler stiffened.

"_Far as you go, Freak!"_

"_Don't hurt her!"_

"_Give us the demon! It's for your own good!"_

"_He isn't a demon!"_

"_Welp!"_

"_Don't hurt her! EMILY!"_

"_There he is! Get him!"_

Nightcrawler spun around in one, flawless motion. The fire in his eyes sending everyone backwards as fast as they could go, leaving the drunk standing stupefied, face pressed to the bars. A low guttural snarl so violent and angry it terrified what little bit of him was still conscious ripped out of his chest as he lunged at the bars.

"I am NOT a _DEMON_!"

His hand connected with something, brushing the man's suit. The man stumbled back as though physically hurt as Nightcrawler continued to scream.

"I AM NOT A DEMON! I AM NOT A DEMON! I AM NOT A DEMON!"

The drunk began to wail, cowering against the wall. "ALP! HE'S KLLIN' ME! GET 'IM AWAY! 'E's a bloody beast, 'e is! He's murder! ALP ME!"

Coldrim snapped into action suddenly. His hand flashed out, the catch coming undone and sending Nightcrawler's cage rocketing towards the ceiling. It went too fast, slamming into the roof and bouncing. He hit the top of the cage and then the bottom, feeling bones pop beneath him and the air leave his lungs in a rush. He lay there, crumpled and beaten, sobbing as he watched the people leave. As the last one is escorted out with many apologies, Coldrim's gold edged monocle turned to glare at him for a long moment before he swept into the back room. Nightcrawler knew he was in trouble now. He didn't care. He didn't want to care anymore. He just wished that it wasn't only his spirit that ran out that door with the rest of the crowd.

**A/N: Wow…Coldrim is NOT going to be happy at ALL.**

**Oh yeah, the man is Sinister (I can't remember the real name). He's an archvillian mutant from the old series. I **_**might**_** use him more…maybe…if you want me to.**

**The "stupor of thought" comment is from part of the bible, I don't remember where. It's supposed to be one of God's ways of answering prayers if something is wrong with what we ask I think. Any comments on that?**

**This is the weirdest story I've written in my life. I guess Kurt inspired me. No matter which continuity he's in he always has that special "spirit" around him, and I felt like I needed to keep that a part of his life. That's where this story is from. I don't expect a lot of people to read this, but I hope the people that do won't judge me. I really love this story in its own way, and I don't want to abuse it by preaching ridiculously or zealously shouting personal beliefs. This is pure Kurt (not me, I hope) and imagination. I'm not part of his specific faith, so I'll need help to avoid offending people. If you want to help, PLEASE HELP. (In other words, if something doesn't fit or could fit better, let me know).**

**Anyway, enough rambling…review. Next chapter is Coldrim's reaction!!!**


	6. Approaching Insanity

**A/N: Coldrim is mean to Kurt. I might explain more at the end if I feel like it. ******

Kurt woke up to a rough hand clamping onto the back of his neck and yanking him to his feet. He moaned loudly and was rewarded by a hard shaking. "When will you learn?" Coldrim snarled.

Kurt felt his blood run cold. His Master was definitely drunk again…more than usual…and he was angrier than Kurt had seen him in a long time.

"I'm sorry…" He murmured, though it wouldn't do him any good.

"_Sorry?_" Coldrim spat.

Kurt was forced to the wall of the cage. Coldrim grabbed onto his tail with one hand, wrapping it around Kurt's right arm and pulling it straight, trapping it, while holding his left arm against the side.

"You belong to _me_ you little brat. Can't you figure that out?"

Kurt whimpered as the end of his tail spasmed painfully in his Master's grip. "Jou are hurting me." He whispered.

"_So, what?_" Coldrim growled, tugging the tail harder and making Kurt yelp while pulling him closer. Something…an expression hidden by the shadows of his cage…something terrified Kurt as he was suddenly so close to the man that he couldn't breathe. His left arm was passed to join his tail in the man's other hand and suddenly Coldrim was touching him. The ex-ringmaster's right hand pressed hard against the boy's bare back, crushing his ribs against the bigger man. Hot, drunk breath washed over Kurt's ear. "_Little wretch…when will you figure out that every inch of you belongs to me?_"

Kurt shivered and pulled away with all the force he could muster, which wasn't nearly enough to break the man's hold. "Let go! Let go ov me! LET GO!"

Coldrim only pulled him even closer, monocle flashing. "What's the matter, Kurt?" Nightcrawler froze at the sound of his old name on the ringmaster's lips. "Aren't you used to being close to people? Don't you like being scared?"

Kurt shivered once and then he gave up. He let the man slip drunkenly to the floor, still holding Kurt trapped on his lap, like a cat or some other pet that he'd finally managed to calm down after a bath. Kurt slipped his tail delicately from the man's iron grip, wincing as the tip began to sting. At his master began to speak to no one at all, Kurt quietly curled up in the man's lap, letting him stroke his arms and his back and mutter on and on about how he belonged to him and how he would never, ever escape because he had nowhere to go.

After a few minutes, Coldrim finally drifted off. Kurt waited until the man was breathing evenly before sliding carefully from his lap. He shuddered as the cold night air wrapped around him, free at last. Kurt tried to stand and collapsed again, still shaky from Coldrim's unexpected treatment. He crawled to the bed in the corner and laid down, one hand slipping beneath the pillow to gather the necklace into his hand as he stared longingly out the open door.

The open door.

Kurt's eyes shot open. He was suddenly very awake. Without even being aware of what he was doing he was on his feet. He made it to the door when he froze.

There were people there, watching, waiting for the show. If he stepped out now, they would see him. They would call him a demon. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't take the next step. His head automatically spun towards Coldrim, waiting for the signal. He shook himself.

_No! I don't have to listen to him anymore! I can be free!_

But he couldn't move. Coldrim's monocle gleamed brightly in the dark, holding him in place. He turned his gaze away, but the image remained fixed in his mind.

He couldn't leave.

Freedom was one step beyond this door and he couldn't taste it.

_Please…I'll come right back…Just von moment…just _von_ day…!_

His arms snapped around himself and he sobbed, stumbling back from the door as if burned. He dropped to his knees in the middle of the cage and for the first time in three years the words came easily.

"Please, Gott…I just vant to see Emily again. I vant to see my home. I vant to get out! I can't stay here, Gott. I can't help anyvon here. Pleaze…" He froze. Then he started over. "Dear Gott in heaven…I vill make you a deal. Iv you get me out, zen I vill dedicate my life to doing the best I can do for you." He stopped again. "I don't have anyzing to give. I 'ave money under ze pallet and a little gold necklace for Emily and I 'ave myself. I vill try to be good…I vill try…" He began to cry. "Gott, I give up!"

He continued rambling, not even sure what was coming out of his mouth anymore. All he knew was that somehow the wall was coming down. He could talk forever if he had to, and he wanted to. He needed help. He needed the guidance of the one being that had had it worse than he had.

Then something happened. Kurt couldn't put his finger on it, but he suddenly felt…calm. He stood up and walked to his bed, laid down, and fell asleep.

Coldrim's monocle flashed once and then went dim.

**A/N: Quick comment before I continue. Yeah, the prayer was sappy. Sorry. I tried to make it as sincere as possible and when I'm upset that's what it sounds like. Better ideas are welcome. Okay, moving on!!!**

"Kurt?"

Nightcrawler's eyes snapped open. They danced around the room blearily before coming to an unfocused rest on the man outside his door. Something about the man's dress seemed familiar. Kurt sat up, holding a hand to his head as he tried to get a closer look.

"Are you vearing a habit?" Kurt asked, his brow wrinkling in confusion. That wasn't right. Priests didn't come to the Emporium, did they? He took a closer look at the man's face.

"Kurt?" The man said again, stepping right up to the bars, his eyes staring into the boy's soul. "Don't you recognize me? It's Brother…"

Snap.

Kurt's eyes shot open. His breath came out in a gasp.

"Brozzer Pierson."

**A/N Aaaaaand CUT! Okay people, break for soda and sugar! Please leave comments in the box you make by clicking on that button there.**

"**Hey, Tera. 'Ow **_**am**_** I escaping from Coldrim?"**

"…**um…*mumble*"**

"**Vhat?"**

"**I'mnotsure." (dashes off)**

"…**Jou have GOT to be kidding me…" (Kurt stares in shock before turning towards screen.) "Please, halp!!!!!"**

**If you need some ideas, here are my spoilers: Coldrim is a mutant, by the way. He is known to Cerebro as "Bonder". His gift is trapping people, forcing them to serve him and follow his suggestions by focusing his will through the monocle (it isn't just for looks!) on his right eye. There is a flaw, though. The bond can be broken when, and only when, (1) A stronger bond comes into play and (2) the monocle's power is disrupted or the monocle is destroyed. (This isn't easy to do, since Kurt has been Coldrim's servant for years. Not all bonds are pretty, but even dark ones can be powerful.) Luckily for Kurt, Brother Pierson had already bonded with the boy by winning his absolute trust three years ago. I'm just not sure it's strong enough to work…**


	7. Act

**A/N: I posted a dream/story for Kurt. Go see it if you want, it has hints at the background story I'm making for him. ******

They stared at each other for what felt like ages. It was too unreal for either to move. Finally, Kurt felt his hand move on its own, stretching delicately towards a man he hadn't seen outside his dreams in three years.

"Herr Pierson…"

The priest's hands wrapped firmly around his own, their warmth surging into his blue-furred skin. Kurt felt a sob of air rush out of him. He pulled the hands toward him through the bars and buried his face in them, an uncontrollable grin growing on his face. "Jou missed mein birthday, Father Pierson."

Pierson smiled, tears in his eyes. "June 29th. Your mother told me. We celebrate it every year."

"How did you find me?" He asked, his face still pressed against hands he thought he'd never see again.

"When the circus left for Europe, we waited for you to come home for a week. Finally, your father wrote a letter to the Ringmaster, and you replied…"

"I did not." Kurt hissed.

Pierson nodded. "I know…you replied that you were going to wait another few years to earn more money and that we shouldn't worry."

"Coldrim." Kurt hissed angrily. Something inside his mind clicked into place. "Ze mob…he arranged it…he must 'ave." Pierson's hands tightened around the boy when he shivered, more than a little startled by his sudden anger. "He's kept me trapped and fooled all these years…he told me zat it voesn't safe to go home…he convinced me zat I vas dangerous to be around. I believed him. I let him put me in the Freak Show. I let him take me from Germany, _mein leibling schwester!_ I let him lock me in a cage and flaunt me like a wild animal. _I let him ruin my life!_" He snarled, startling himself. He'd never been so angry with the man before…it was like a shell was wrapped around his emotions and Pierson was slowly prying it open.

Pierson listened calmly, but his eyes shone. The boy's pain went far deeper than the bruises and scars that decorated his fur. His mind flew back to the night he met the boy, the gentle child that just wanted to be a good person. "Kurt. Kurt, I'm so sorry." He reached through the bars to stroke the boy's cheek. Kurt turned into the touch, seeking comfort in his gentle tracing of the bruises there. The man's eyes hardened. "We have to get you out of here."

Kurt went limp. "I..."

Thoughts rushed through his mind. _I can't…I'm trapped…They'll get hurt…I'm too scared…_ Kurt shuddered. Then his eyes locked onto Pierson's. Something else fell into place. The shell cracked again. "Just tell me vhat to do, _mein freund_."

"I will tell you a secret, my good man!" Coldrim announced. "I have _tamed_ this demon."

"No!"

"Yes!" Coldrim threw back his cape dramatically, lifting his arms above their heads. "And now I shall prove it!"

Kurt smiled menacingly as he stepped from the cage. His eyes settled on a young boy near the front. He glanced at Coldrim, patiently awaiting the signal.

"You see? He is perfectly tame!"

The Midnight Visitor threw himself forward, eliciting the usual scream as he scooped the boy into his arms. He slid effortlessly around her, about to place the startled child back on the floor, when a horrific choking sound erupted from his chest.

He dropped the child. Kurt fell forward onto his hands and knees, still choking as they all scrambled away from him. A low moan escaped his lips.

Kurt threw his head back. A keening wail made the entire menagerie shake in terror. The boy collapsed completely onto the ground, grabbing his head between his hands and flailing about in pain.

"_Gnade_!" Kurt whimpered suddenly. The crowd pressed itself against the locked door, staring at him in shock. One of the men stared at him, a small German flag was tucked into his vest pocket. Tears filled Kurt's eyes as they rolled towards him. "Gnade, gnade…" He cried quietly.

"Mercy." The man mumbled, stunned. "He's asking for mercy…"

Then they all jumped again as Kurt slipped into English, their own tongue. "Ze curse…'alp me, please!" He cried out, clutching at his sides as he began to thrash again.

Pity appeared on a few of their faces. Kurt caught their expressions in a glance and flung himself to the side. He froze, allowing his eyes to rest on Coldrim's face for a full five seconds before he let out another piercing scream and scrambled backwards. Halfway to his feet he crashed into the wall, dropping down again. Gaze locked on his "master", Kurt began to sob. "Please, sir! Take me home! _I don't vant to be a monster anymore_!"

Coldrim glanced towards his audience. Shock, mingled with suspicion, turned towards him. He moved quickly. Grabbing Kurt by one arm he half-threw the limp, struggling boy into his cage and kicked the catch release. The prison rocketed skywards out of sight.

Kurt stopped crying. He peered over the edge and snickered quietly to himself. Coldrim was trying to reassure his customers that it was all just part of his act as he hurried them on.

The small boy had glanced back. Kurt waved to him, a huge grin on his face. The boy glanced from side to side, making sure no one was watching him before he waved back. His arm was…sparkling? What the…

Before Kurt could process what he'd seen the boy had disappeared back into the crowd. He caught Coldrim's glare turn towards him, shocking him back into his situation. Kurt felt a shiver run through him like a cold wind. His master's eyes promised far more than a reprimand and a drunken song tonight. Kurt slipped back into the dark, relative safety of his cage and waited for the shop to close.

He could only hope that this would be the last time he was around to see it.

**A/N: Short, because it was a good place to stop. I have the rest and am typing quickly. Updates will be soon! Mwahaha…**

"**Gnade" means "Mercy", as near as I can tell. Please correct if wrong. ******** Also, I was going to use Colossus as the small boy, but he's so much older than Kurt…I tried Pyro, but he's a tad old, too. All the Eastern people are taken! Augh! Anyways…made my own mutant. No purpose yet. Maybe later he'll have significance. ******


End file.
